


Dawn of the Robros

by Etnoe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Loneliness, Pre-Canon, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 14:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etnoe/pseuds/Etnoe
Summary: On their first meeting, Squarewave isn't exactly calibrated to deal with something like Dirk, a relic of a dead species.





	Dawn of the Robros

**Author's Note:**

> Dirk, saying that building robots is about as easy as building computers: _TT: But from your perspective you know it's not a big deal to build a computer. You just go online and buy a case and a motherboard and some other shit and put it all together._  
>  But I was thinking, ordering parts online is still a touch more awkward than usual, in his circumstances.
> 
> This was written for a mini-playlist prompt in the Ship Olympics:  
> Die Roboter - Kraftwerk  
> Circuitry - Steam Powered Giraffe  
> Robots - Dan Mangan

* * *

  
ONLINE: Slambot S13 v2.bootleg.

Tag: Squarewave.

Audio input: Ocean waves. That shit is lit!! That is technically important to know, but, also technically, not for the actual purpose of your programming.

Audio input: Seagulls. Technically, adoooorbs, especially because they steal like mofos. And even more technically, again, the programming-relevant information is that they're unlikely to learn enough words to pose a challenge in a slam poet battle. Can be mostly ignored. But you'd best be eyeballing any that might fly overhead and streak up your gleam!

Audio input: ... _Processing_ ...  
... _Processing_ ...   
... Some douchebag. He did say his name somewhere in there, but let's be real.  
... _Analysis_ ...   
84% likely to be that kind of douchebag who wants a hug. You, Slambot v2.bootleg, might be illegal, but you are not that kind of illegal. Also a wordy douchebag. Probably fool enough to think he's got this on lock! But every weak word he says provides more data to counter him with...

"The working idea is that you're going to be a companion to me. Not a hard job. My maintenance is a lot lower than your nuts and bolts ass is probably going to turn out to be a few years down the line. With all the spare parts I need to order in, that means another of your robotic brethren - but of the dangerously imperial kind - having to drop a package for me, and possibly getting a chance to realise I'm no carapace.

"The simple presence you provide will count for a lot. Knowledge of another physical, humanoid being, moving around, cogitating in its own personalised way, agitating the air and whatever. The idea is that you're going to hang around here and be, like. Peppy. Cheerful 'n shit. With innate happiness spreading like some kind of contagion. Could even call it friendship in the end, if that was a thing you could build out of a box.

"But man, check me out. I'm practically telling stories over here. There we go, proof your presence is already making me a slave to heretofore distant human impulses. Stories are a good way to socialise impressionable young minds to nod along with the expectations of all the people around them, you know? But I'm not about to make it so you only get to listen, like some three-year-old chump too starry-eyed over Pinocchio tumbling off the turnip wagon to answer back to their guardian.

"You can tell me. With your own voice. How's all that sound to you?"

"WACK, yo, dog!"

Squarewave was a head on a workbench, body out of reach even via remote access or at least visual input, but its speakers had been attached like This Douchebag had implied, so it spat out everything it could. "You leave a bro bodiless and act like it's a favour to hitch up a tinny speakerset so I can only sass your narrow ass back if _you_ feel like it?! You trippin'!"

"Uh-huh." Dirk Strider folded his arms on the table, then rested his chin on them and stared and stared at him. Squarewave rolled away, spring attachpoints pumping, though he couldn't get far with the wires from the speakers attached to him. But still, a brother had to spark-and-roll for himself if he wasn't allowed to stand up!

The dopy-slack look fell off Dirk's face, and he straightened up more like someone who knew he'd better be serious. Fuck yeah! "Can't give you limbs right off the bat, bot. Got to see if the main processor could handle all that, and that you weren't about to go AI apeshit apocalypse on me."

"Wouldn't rule that out yet mothafucka!!!"

He meant it. And Dirk smiled.

That couldn't be right.

... _Processing_ ... Squarewave rolled around till his head was the same way up as the human's.

"Carapacians do this too, right?" Dirk said, pointing at his smile. Was it kind of a big one? "You know what this particular series of coordinated facial twinges is meant to convey. It registers as meaningful with you for whatever reason the Condesce decided that robots should be made accessible to her subjects, and the robots should understand them, and maybe hang with them a little - right?"

"Shit," said Squarewave, feeling weird. Feeling programming, actually, of his very own that Dirk hadn't accessed at all. He wasn't exactly fresh out the slam-poet S13 model box anymore. His system could recognise that changes had been made, especially that most of the kill component was firewalled behind a programme with a when-necessary clause with exact and comprehensive parameters, and he couldn't make any kind of remote Imperial contact. There was still a lot of him left intact, though, and he did know what that muscle-scrunch meant in an organic being. It was a pretty desired response from an audience. Not as high level as a real chill nod, or getting the thumbs up to give the opponent a physical hit, but. Hey. Well. A whole smile.

"Look, I don't actually care. I should, in the spirit of responsible testing of Imperial bots, but, god damn am I chill about it," Dirk said, head settling down on his arms, watching him again. Squarewave watched his face go ... dreamy. It was something he knew to watch out for - it could mark a real poet.

"If you prefer to get out of here I could do that," Dirk said. "Wouldn't take me that long if I really put my mind to it, and ask Roxy for help. Could get you a body that flies and set some kind of time delay so that you're well away from here and I don't have to worry you're going to be able to identify my location. But do a fellow slam poet a favour."

"Bitches owe ME favours, is how that sitch goes, player," Squarewave said, putting more effort into processing in Dirk's weird face. It moved like a troll's should, like the way-back part of his data said, all these tiny shifts that showed real easily on him, but were harder to pick up on a carapacian.

"I'm just sayin'. No need for it to start off that way, diving into the aggression. We could get a little juice flowing before we have a real battle. Collaborate."

Pretty sure he was supposed to laugh in response. It was supposed to be the first choice in his list of responses. 'Collaborate'! A slam poet like him, like this douchebag claimed to be? Bro, no way. Collaboration was for moirails, or soldiers who'd supported each other on the Battlefield that joined Derse to Prospit.

But even with how dangerously blazed Dirk looked, Squarewave didn't want to laugh or give rolling away another try. It was like he couldn't escape the miles of smiles.

"We could work on _your_ rhymes," he said. "If you want. Cuz I bet you need that shit."

Audio input: a sigh, so long, hard to analyse. Satisfaction? Pain? "Could be I do."

 

Dirk didn't battle much, in later years. It could get a bot down. He wasn't always busy and tinkering and typing and all that, though, and on some long afternoons he'd flop into a chair and watch Squarewave strut up, and he'd rub over his head like he'd used to do a lot. Like he'd done from the beginning, when Squarewave's head was all there was to touch. He'd smile, and he'd listen in the same fill-me-up way he had on that first bright new day, perfect audience, best friend.


End file.
